


You've Been on a Journey They Can't See

by barricadebutts



Series: Head First & Fearless [3]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Post-Canon, This is pretty laid back but there's a bit of fluff I suppose, very brief and very mild sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barricadebutts/pseuds/barricadebutts
Summary: The voices fall silent and Will starts walking back down the hallway, only the locks on the front door never slide back into place once it's closed.As Will gets closer, he can hear him saying, "Yeah, we haven't had the time to decorate much. We've been busy, but it's coming along."When Will and their visitor come into view though, the absolute last person who he expects to see with Will is his literal brother. Joe looks into the room, his face immediately donning an amused look, and straight at Tom propped halfway up in their very messy bed before responding to Will. "Yeah, I can see that. Morning, Tom." His voice is amused at least, which is a better reaction than the first time he'd found him in a state of undress in some other boy's bed.Or: Tom and Will are invited to spend the weekend at Tom's childhood home with his mother and brother.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Series: Head First & Fearless [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630201
Comments: 20
Kudos: 296





	You've Been on a Journey They Can't See

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sort of follow-up to a 10k monster I wrote a couple of weeks ago. You don't have to read that first to necessarily get this, but since you're here, why don't you give it a look if you haven't already? > [[x]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367635). 
> 
> I tried to research more about homefront life during the war to get some sort of feel of what it would have have been like out in rural England, and apparently I am incapable of stringing the correct words and phrases together to produce relevant results to what I needed so... a possible smidge of suspension if you will.
> 
> The title this time around is from "All My Friends" by Dermot Kennedy. His album produces some type of mood, that's for sure.
> 
> All mistakes are my own and whatever Grammerly missed when I ran it through the system.

_"So stunner, don't ever move softly/ You've been on a journey they can't see/ When dancing in ballrooms, you will lead/ Promise you'll smile off a memory"_

-"All My Friends", Dermot Kennedy

In what’s becoming a pleasant habit of late, Tom wakes up slowly, feeling the sunlight warming his face and listening to the quiet breathing of Will next to him. He feels the heat of that breath against his collarbone where Will must have rolled over to at some point in the preceding hours.

Turning his head to his side to try and find any semblance of the time, nothing greets him but the bare wall and a narrow strip of floor. If he turns his head in the other direction, he's met with a head full of dark hair; there's no seeing over Will. He at least figures it must be early morning from the dim light that filters in through the curtained window on the other side of Will.

Content to lay in the comfortable enough bed and feel the weight of Will on top of him, Tom closes his eyes and drifts back into a light sleep. Sometime later after a dreamless sleep, he wakes again to the light pressure of lips on his collarbone, and again on his shoulder. Cracking an eye open to survey the room, his view is still obscured by Will's head, but from a different angle this time. Will catches his eye and smiles a lazy, sleep heavy smile. He's propped up on the elbow furthest from Tom so that he's somehow still half draped across him, the latter reveling in the comforting weight.

Tom smiles back at Will and accepts the kiss that he leans forward to press against his lips. Will might have meant for the kiss to be short and chaste, a simple good morning kiss, but Tom's not letting him get away that easily. Reaching up to thread his hand through the back of Will's hair, Tom pulls him closer and turns the kiss languidly. It's something they've not had the opportunity to do much before and Tom wants to experience all of it.

The rings adorning Tom's hand scrapes against Will's scalp eliciting a soft moan from the older man. It's a pleasant sound that Tom thinks he'd like to hear more of, have it on repeat for the rest of forever.

One of Will's hands, the one that isn't holding him up, comes to scratch lightly up Tom's side. His fingers sneak beneath the undershirt he's wearing, the feeling eliciting goosebumps and hum from Tom's own throat.

As if the movement pains him, Will pulls himself from Tom's mouth. Unconsciously, Tom feels his head lift off the pillow to follow, an act that causes Will to huff a quiet chuckle. Will doesn't reattach his mouth to Tom's jaw or any part of him for that matter, which he honestly finds rude. Instead, Will whispers his name quiet enough that Tom opens his eyes to see what he needs.

Will's blue eyes meet his, and they're closer than he remembers from a few minutes prior. Tom feels powerless to do anything besides stare and take in the feeling of Will's weight and the hand lightly scratching at his side. Never, did Tom think that he would be here, calm and content with Will Schofield. 

"God you're so beautiful," Will murmurs like Tom's almost not supposed to hear him.

The words cause warmth to rush to his face, no doubt letting Will know he's heard. Tom slides his hand from the back of Will's head around and across his cheekbone until he reaches his chin. Mind moving on autopilot, Tom traces Will's lips with his thumb, reverent. He wants to know everything he can about this other man. He wants to know what Will sounds like in the unhurried throes of passion and what he sounds like when he's reached the limit of his restraint. Tom wants to know everything.

The entire time that Tom traces Will's lips, the latter stares in loaded silence. They can only last for so long balancing on this precipice, so when Will knocks Tom's fingers out of the way, he relegates them to wrap around Will's lower back instead and accepts the pressure of the mouth that closes around the jut of Tom's jaw. 

A stuttering breath escapes from Tom's mouth as his eyes slide shut and his head tilts back against the pillow. Lying here feels like existing in some liminal space where time doesn't exist, and responsibilities are nothing but fiction. A car honks outside, but it sounds like it's miles away.

Despite what Tom wants, which is to lay here all day with Will in varying stages of undress, he has errands to run and a job to apply for. The way that Will bites into his collarbone though, and the noise the former makes in turn as he scratches up Will's back, leave little to be desired of the outside world. 

For a moment, Tom swears he hears a knock at the front door. He contemplates saying something to Will, who very clearly has not heard it, but before he can, Will's fingers skirt down the inside of Tom's thigh. 

This, _this_ is Tom's favorite thing about bowing out of the war early with an injury. It doesn't last long though because another blow lands on the front door, harder this time. It's loud enough that even Will hears it this time and groans out in frustration. No one who knocks on their door literally ever has anything relevant to ask them. Still, though, Tom can't help but scoff in disbelief.

"They've already knocked once if you'd believe it," Tom murmurs, shifting his hand to run through Will's hair, no doubt contributing to its unruliness.

Will lifts his head and settles it against Tom's chest, looking up at him through his eyelashes. "Maybe they'll go away if we ignore them for long enough."

Almost as if the universe is personally out to get them, the visitor at the door pounds their fist into the old wood _again_. "Yes alright. I'm coming!" Will turns to yell in the direction of the door.

Tom can't help but laugh and pull Will up for one more firm kiss before he's clambering out of bed.

"How do I look?" Will asks, pulling on a pair of trousers from the floor. They might be his, they might not; it's anyone's guess.

Tom props his head up on an elbow and eyes him up and down. "Thoroughly debauched."

"Fuck off." Will waves him away and leaves the room. 

From down the hall, Tom can hear the locks click and the door open, followed by the intonation of a question and a mumble of men's voices. Despite how he tries to minimize the surrounding noise, Tom can't gather who Will's talking to. But then the voices fall silent and Will starts walking back down the hallway, only the locks on the front door never slide back into place once it's closed. 

As Will gets closer, he can hear him saying, "Yeah, we haven't had the time to decorate much. We've been busy, but it's coming along."

Will's not wrong in that respect. Since Tom's been with him, they've added a kitchen table and populated the built-in bookshelves with a few books and other chachkas.

When Will and their visitor come into view though, the absolute last person who he expects to see with Will is his literal brother. Joe looks into the room, his face immediately donning an amused look, and straight at Tom propped halfway up in their very messy bed before responding to Will. "Yeah, I can see that. Morning, Tom." His voice is amused at least, which is a better reaction than the first time he'd found him in a state of undress in some other boy's bed.

"Well, I was in London finishing up some paperwork and thought I'd deliver this in person." From his pocket, Joe produces an envelope. For a split second, Tom thinks it’s a letter from the army summoning Will back to the front after two months of reprieve. Before he has time to let the panic set in though, Joe walks across the room and hands the letter to Tom.

He only winces a little as he pushes himself up into a fully seated position. His wound is about 90% healed, but it still pulls if he moves a certain way. Tom can see a concerned look pass over Will's face just over Joe's shoulder. 

The letter that Joe hands him is instantly recognizable as his mother's handwriting. It has this flat's address on it, though still addressed to him. "You came practically three hours to give me a letter?"

Joe rolls his eyes and leans against the wall just inside the bedroom door. "Just open it, will ya? I had to come into the city for army shit, I told you. I told mum to save the postage and I'd just stop by and give it to you."

So, Tom opens it. He scans the pleasantries at the beginning talking about the neighbors and how they all wish him a speedy recovery. He wrote his mother a few weeks ago with his new address and his intention to stay in London for a little while longer. It seems though that she hadn't shared that bit with the neighbors.

The note goes on to say that, "She wants us all to come for the weekend at the end of next week so she can quote 'spend time with us'," Tom reads out flatly.

Will snorts from the doorway and only offers a shrug when Tom narrows his eyes. "I'll make sure to keep the lights on for when you get back."

"Oh no, you're coming. You're not getting out of this. Mum addresses you by name just here." Tom makes a show of pointing to the offending sentence, effectively drawing Will across the room to the bed to peer at his mother's script.

"Fuck. No Tom, I told you I'd never be able to live that down."

" _No_ , you told me you'd never be able to face my brother again, and look, here you are!"

For a moment, Tom forgets that Joe's even still in the room. All focus is on Will's messy hair and wide eyes at the prospect of having to spend more than twenty minutes with his mother. Joe evidently does not forget that he's in the room because he asks, "Why did you tell Tom you could never face me?"

If possible, Will's face gets redder. "I think he said something about telling you I was dead and then sobbing all over your uniform. It _might_ have also had something to do with that time five years back where--" Before Tom's able to finish, he’s cut off by Will's hand covering his mouth.

Joe's eyebrows are nearly at his hairline, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Will you accept my forgiveness, Will? Can't say I was too picky about the way I found out Tom was alive."

Will’s hand doesn’t move from Tom’s mouth, the latter is frozen in what closely resembles shock. Tom licking the inside of the offending hand though kickstarts his brain and Will removes his hand from Tom's face, not bothering to hide his disgust. When he manages to gain some modicum of composure, he looks over at Joe. "That's not--"

"I also don't care about what you and my brother get up to alone. He's my brother, and all that I care about is that he's happy and alive. That enough for you?"

Will doesn't respond to Joe's words, but Tom looks up at his brother and smiles gratefully. They never really talked about that moment five years ago, but Tom feels a blooming warmth in his chest that he knows won't be going away any time soon.

"See?" Tom clears his throat and cranes his face to look at Will who's still looking across the room at Joe. It's like he can't possibly believe what Joe's just told him. "Now that that's taken care of, you’ve no excuse. My mother doesn't know anything we haven't told her, so there's no reason to worry."

Will turns his head to look at Tom, and this close, Tom can tell how loose of a grasp on this mask of calm he has. That he's moments from truly panicking. 

"Our mother makes a hell of a roast too, Will. She's just happy that both her boys are safe and home for a moment, so she wants to celebrate. It's not some elaborate trap."

"Alright." It's barely loud enough for Tom to hear, let alone Joe halfway across the room. "I'm only doing this for you, Tom." Tom nods, accepting the concession for what it is. 

The three of them lapse into silence. "Did you have anything else to say or did you just stop by to drop that bombshell on us?"

"I guess that was the main thing."

Tom nods and begins to extract himself from the bedding, paying mind to the remainder of his wound. "Ordinarily I'd ask you to stay and have lunch, but I think we need a moment. I'll walk you out." Only when he's up and in front of his brother, still leaning on his cane this early in the morning, does he realize that he's in his pants and undershirt. Joe thankfully doesn't draw much attention to it apart from an amused glance.

They retrace the path to the front door, Joe quiet almost the whole way there. "Well if you two change your mind, I was thinking of grabbing a bite at that pub down at the end of the street around noon." He explains once Tom’s opened the door.

"I'll talk to him and he'll be fine."

Joe nods but hesitates before leaving. "You're happy, right Tom? That's all that matters at the end of the day."

The sentiment tightens Tom's chest like he’s being hugged just a smidge too tight to be comfortable. The two of them never have heart-to-hearts, so he wonders what's changed. Could it really be as simple as the fact that Joe thought he had died? Pushing past the lump that’s formed in his throat, Tom tries to smile. "Yeah, I'm happier than I think I've been in a long time. He makes the nightmares okay."

It's Joe's turn to smile, and he pulls Tom into a real hug that doesn’t make his chest hurt. "Good. Now either call mum to tell her you'll be coming or write her back. Don't be an ungrateful shit.”

The bounce back to well-intentioned humor feels like a breath of fresh air. Tom laughs anyway into Joe's shoulder. "Yeah alright. We'll see you later; bye Joe." Joe's only a few steps out the door when he turns around and half yells, "And put some clothes on!"

“Good _bye_ Joe."

The door closes with finality, and Tom stands there against the wall leaning with half his weight on the stupid cane. He won't need it in about an hour, but the soreness and stiffness every morning hasn't abated yet. Now that Joe's left, the flat is quiet once more, only it's too quiet. He doesn't even hear Will down the hall back in their bedroom. Which is just another issue to deal with.

He understands Will's apprehension to meet his family in a more domestic setting. More domestic settings open up conversations into personal matters that could prove tricky in the company of his mother. Tom had thought Joe knowing might make Will relax a bit around the older Blake, and who knows, perhaps with time it will. For now, though, it's made Will freeze like a scared animal who's been spotted by a predator.

When Tom comes back into view of the bedroom, Will's still sitting in the same spot perched on the end of the bed, though his head does turn when the floors creak under Tom's weight. He searches for something to say to lighten the mood and settles on, "You know we'll have to share a bed?" Will gives him a questioning look so Tom elaborates. "At my mother's house. There're only three rooms and since Joe will be there…"

Will does crack a smile then as he stares at Tom. "How on Earth will we manage?"

"Very quietly," Tom walks to where Will's sat and stands in between his legs. He tosses the cane somewhere on the bed and settles his hands on Will's shoulders. "The bed's almost as bad as that one in the German bunker, remember that?"

Will laughs, his eyes finally sparkling again. "How could I forget?" His hands creep up to settle at the small of Tom's back, the weight familiar and comfortable. "I guess we'll just have to practice now, huh?"

The surge of affection and _love_ he has for this boy in front of him nearly overwhelms him. Will's coming home to see his mother for _him_. It's a gesture that's so simple yet means so much. Now, he smiles and leans down to kiss Will squarely on the mouth.

Will pulls Tom to lay back on the bed, hands roaming eagerly wherever they can. For now, they're okay. Perhaps in an hour or so they'll get cleaned up and meet Joe down at the pub for some food, but for now Tom's content to drawing those addicting sounds from Will's mouth.

A week later sees Tom and Will sitting on uncomfortable and stiff train benches traveling an hour and a half north of London. They spend the majority of the train ride in relative comfortable silence, a fact that Tom thinks is a blessing in disguise with how hesitant about this whole venture Will has been. Despite Will's apparent calm demeanor, Tom can practically see his hands shaking as the train pulls into the station. His leg is bouncing, and he's scanning the people stood along the platform waiting for the train to unload its passengers. Joe is meant to be waiting out front of the station with the neighbor's newer car to bring them home (apparently, it’s been the talk of the town according to his mother).

Will's doing a particularly good job trying to hide how nervous he is, and to any outside observer, he would probably just look impatient to get off the train. There's no point in trying to hide it from Tom though. 

On the train, a few servicemen home for one reason or another almost resemble corpses. Their eyes look nearly lifeless, eyelids drooping with exhaustion. Tom thinks that this is what he and Will looked like coming home, though perhaps Will more so than himself after his convalescence in two separate hospitals. It’s haunting imagery that has Tom grappling with the point of it all. Surely it must be nearly over by now.

When the train finally shutters to a halt, Will stays glued to his seat, staring at smiling faces out of the window. Tom gives him a moment and wrenches their small cases from the overhead shelf. When Tom’s finished, Will’s still staring outside. He nudges him with the corner of one of their cases. “This is us, Will, up you get.”

Will sighs and turns his head to look at Tom. His expression hasn’t changed, he still looks scared out of his mind, but at least he’s responding to his name.

“What if I just stayed on the train and let it take me to the next stop?”

“Well, I bet the conductor’ll kick you off when he sees you don’t have a ticket. Come on, it won’t be that bad, Scho.” Settling back into their public personas isn’t as hard as Tom thought it’d be. The name must flip a switch in Will though because he sets his shoulders and pushes himself off the bench. Tom smiles, triumphant. “And here I thought I was going to have to appeal to your self-sacrificing side.”

Will glares at him on his way out of the carriage, taking the offered bag from Tom as he passes.

Outside it’s a few degrees cooler than it had been at their flat, but it seems they’ve missed the worst of the midday June heat. Like Joe had promised, he’s right outside the station in civilian clothes and a smile on his face. The sight almost lets Tom believe the war is actually over.

Joe’s all too happy to put their bags in the trunk for them. Despite Will’s clear apprehension on the train, he seems to have donned an amicable visage for the members of Tom’s small family. Not for the first time, Tom thinks about how grateful he is to have ended up with someone as simultaneously self-sacrificing and self-preserving as Will Schofield.

Will throws him a questioning look as they load into the car, but Tom just smiles and shakes his head. Join rejoins them after not too long, effectively ending their silent exchange.

“Well then gentlemen, are we all set?” Joe proclaims when he slides into the driver’s seat. “You ready to meet the mother, Will?” Joe’s question, which he asks while looking into the rearview mirror, is met with a half-hearted glare so _Will_ that Tom can’t help but chuckle to himself when he looks over his shoulder.

“I’m glad you find amusement in my pain. Besides, I’ve already met her once.”

“Yeah, but does twenty minutes, one time, count when she only said, like, ten words to you at the time?”

Will doesn’t answer Tom’s question, but rather sits in silence listening to Joe talk about what their neighbors have been up to. In Joe's letters from home, he had learned that one of the neighbor boys had helped give away Myrtle’s pups. He’s pleased to report that Myrtle now has kin running around half the countryside; Tom smiles at the thought. When the late spring hit and the cherries were ripe enough to pick, the same boy who helped with Myrtle’s pups came over to help make the job easier on their mother and take them into town to sell. Tom remembers her mentioning this to him in one of her letters, but he listens to Joe prattle on anyway, watching the hills roll past.

The ride from the station to his childhood home takes about fifteen minutes. When they pull up to the house, it’s just as Tom remembers it. From the road, he can see the few cherry trees poking out from around back. The windows on the ground floor and upstairs bedrooms are thrown open, curtains fluttering in the breeze. Though he doesn’t immediately see Myrtle, Tom thinks she’s probably passed out under one of the trees.

Joe kills the engine when they pull up the drive and sits in silence for a moment. “Alright?”

Tom nods and watches as Joe heaves himself out of the car and goes around to retrieve their bags. He looks back to Will and sees him looking up at the house through the window like it’s some daunting mission. “It’s going to be fine, Will. You know I wouldn’t make you come if I wasn’t sure it’d be fine.”

“And if you’re wrong?” It’s quiet and vulnerable, and it breaks Tom’s heart just a bit.

“If I’m wrong then we’ll leave.” Will looks over, startled as if he can’t quite believe what Tom’s telling him. “You have been through more with me than my mum ever has or ever will be, okay? You are my family and I will choose you if I have to, okay?”

Will’s eyes are wide and uncertain. The cynicism that Will carries with him everywhere he goes through nearly all situations never ceases to astound Tom. He thinks he gets some of it, to an extent, but the utter doubt that he has in everyone, including Tom himself, nearly makes a flare of anger rise up in him. He buries it because now is neither the time nor the place.

“Alright let’s go, out of the car. If you can do the Somme and cross No-Man’s land, you can do this.” Tom doesn’t give Will any more time to rebut the statement before he’s pushing the door open and then walking around to pull Will’s open as well.

Much to Tom’s pleasure, Will cooperates and emerges from the car with even a reassuring smile on his face. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Tom feels the anger simmer inside of him for now. He supposes it’s a start.

Joe’s already walked inside with their cases, and now that they’re nearly upon to the door, Tom only leaning on his cane for support every other step or so, his mother comes rushing out of the house with a larger than life smile on her face. Her smile might as well be contagious because a grin of his own is plastered across his face when she grabs him around the shoulders.

With her comforting weight grounding him, Tom has no issue lifting his cane in his hand to wrap around his mother’s waist. Her smell hasn’t changed in the months it’s been since they’ve seen each other. He can’t even decide what the smell is, only that it’s _home_. And it’s a different kind of home than Tom feels when Will is near and holding him. His mother feels like childhood and innocence-- a longing for things to return to the way they were not so long ago. Though it’s impossible, the thought sends a jolt of painful longing through Tom.

The warring embodiments of the home that are now both present should leave Tom with a difficult decision about what he wants his future to look like, but it actually feels quite simple laid out like this. For now, they can exist side by side, but Tom knows he can never return here, to the small two-story house with cherry trees in the backyard that reminds him of many spring days spent up high picking them bare.

Tom’s mother reluctantly pulls away from him and turns her gaze to Will. “Oh, and William, it’s so nice to see you again. I was so pleased when Tom told me you were coming.” She gives him a much briefer and friendly hug, which he’s sure that Will appreciates.

Will’s smiling his amicable smile though that he reserves for when he’s trying to be extra cordial. At least he’s trying. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Blake.”

His mother looks satisfied with the answer and takes a step back to look at both of them. “Now then, you’ll both have to share Tom’s old room since Joe’s home for a few more days.”

“I think we’ll survive, mum. Slept in a lot worse places.”

After adequate pleasantries and Joe griping about them standing outside, she takes them inside and settles them at the small kitchen table. Striking up a fairly innocent conversation, his mother asks what they’re both doing and what the flat’s like now that they’re off the line and home.

As the conversation progresses, Tom sees Will relax more and more under his mother’s calm demeanor. Joe sits with them as well, catching Tom’s eye and turning up the corner of his mouth every time he’s caught looking at Will for a few seconds too long. His mother doesn’t notice though, too busy in the kitchen chopping at ingredients for sides to the roast she’s somehow managed to find and prepare. Will catches him once or twice though, and they’re sat so close around the small table that he’s able to get away with briefly pressing their ankles together under the table in acknowledgment.

Tom’s mother tells him that she thinks it’s a good idea to stay in London and perhaps find a job. At one point she asks him his intentions to finish out his university degree, a question that has Will turning to look at him with thinly veiled interest.

“You started university before the war?” Tom’s mother looks up between the two of them and shifts her eyes back and forth as if she’s confused.

“He doesn’t know that you were enrolled at uni? Honestly Tom, what do you two even talk about?” Tom feels his face heat and shoots a look at Joe who’s pointedly taking large gulps from his glass of water. “Did you go to university, William?”

“I did for a year and a half until the war broke out, ma’am. I enlisted against my family’s wishes. For now, I think I’ll just try and get a job without my degree and see what comes of that after the war ends.” The news isn’t completely new to Tom. Will has mentioned his family’s displeasure with him enlisting, particularly that of his sister back when they were out in France. He may have said something about school at one point too, but Tom honestly can’t remember in the heat of the moment.

“And do you have any plans to settle down anytime soon? I can imagine you’re quite eager to restart your life.” The question is perfectly innocent, but try as he might not to, Tom shifts uncomfortably in his seat, the wicker loudly creaking under the movement.

Will glances in Tom’s direction only long enough to know that he’s done so. He clears his throat and pretends nothing is out of the ordinary. Tom doesn’t dare look at Joe. “Not as of right now. I think I’d like to get through the war first since I am technically still enlisted. Unlike Tom, I’ve only been put on rotation home; they could call me back at any moment.”

The statement is met with a satisfied, yet small smile from his mother. The smile brings with it an air of uncertainty. In the back of his mind, Tom thinks _does she know more than I think she does?_ All they’ve had time to do is exchange light conversation though, there’s nothing… except that he thinks that maybe he’s not crazy in thinking that her demeanor has shifted almost too subtle to detect ever since he told her of his address change. There’s no way he’s saying anything of it to Will before they’re back home.

Regardless of these potential new revelations, Tom thinks dinner goes very well. His mother reveals that she paid the difference for the roast at the butcher with a fresh stock of cherries. The conversation gradually turns away from obligatory ‘get to know you’ questions into more conversational territory that lets all three boys more or less banter back and forth. At one point, Tom glances at his mother who’s sitting across from him, silent, and sees a fond smile gracing her features. His newly realized fear abates if only a bit.

A few of the neighbors come poking their heads in around the time that they’re cleaning up, probably eager to see the fabled return of the younger Blake sibling. His mother in her pure thankless fashion invites them to stay for tea, which is still more satisfying months later than the watered-down substitute out at the front.

Will makes polite conversation with a girl named Francine from down the way and must explain how he knows Tom more times than he should, but they get through it. The presence of these individuals who he’s known all his life is oddly comforting at the end of it. The close-knit family environment of a small village is simultaneously a blessing and a curse if Tom’s being honest. He’s almost certain though that he’d only be able to last a week or two back out here without going mad.

The neighbors leave around 8:30, leaving the house feeling empty without the chatter. Joe’s outback tending to Myrtle before he turns in, and Tom’s helping his mother dry and put away the dishes she washes. His mother’s back is to him and the rest of the room, Tom facing out into the kitchen and table where Will listens to her talk.

She’s chattering aimlessly about a little bit of everything by this point. Tom’s tuned most of it out, but he thinks he hears the name of one of the neighbors, a girl who’s around the same age as Will and not yet married off. He doesn’t know what context she speaks of her in, and frankly, he’s not too keen to find out. Judging by Will’s face, it isn’t about setting her up with himself or Tom-- maybe Joe though.

Will makes eye contact with Tom at one point and the smile he affords him is so unguarded that he almost feels as if everything will have been worth it if it meant getting to this point. Maybe he should learn to thank the German pilot when he shows up in his dreams, because without him, maybe it would have been a faceless shell that buried him for good.

A lull in the conversation once the dishes get low sees Will pushing his chair back and standing, arms rising over his head to stretch from too prolonged a period of sitting. “I think I’m going to turn in for the night if that’s alright with you, Mrs. Blake. Thank you for everything.”

She turns around and looks almost morose to see him go. “You’re very welcome. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Oi, I didn’t say you could leave,” Tom replies, playfully indignant.

“Yeah, your opinion doesn’t matter. Goodnight, Mrs. Blake.”

Tom chokes on a laugh. “Goodnight, William,” his mother answers with an exasperated glance in Tom’s direction.

Will leaves, stepping lightly up the old wooden stairs. Tom listens to his bedroom door shut, stowing two teacups his mother hands him before she turns to look at him out of the side of his vision.

“Can I ask you something, Tom?” The abrupt request admittedly throws him. What’s he going to say to his mother though? No?

“‘Course.”

She’s silent for a beat too long before opening her mouth. _Oh God,_ he thinks, _here we go._

“Do you remember a few years ago when you were friends with a boy from a few miles over? I think his name was Arthur?”

If it were medically possible, Tom would swear that his heart stops beating and his stomach plummets to the floor of his abdomen. Rather than look over at his mother, Tom’s eyes shift to the layout of the room, trying to determine if he can make a quick escape if things turn ugly. He hopes Will hasn’t actually fallen asleep yet.

Tom’s aware of how the silence stretches before them and tries to covertly school his breathing and nerves. “I do, yes. What about him?”

“Well, I know how fond and close you two were with each other. I only bring that up because I had wondered if that might be how you and William are now.”

The only thing that prevents Tom from literally being sick all over the kitchen floor is the thought that he’ll have to clean it up because he sure as hell wouldn’t let her do it. Chancing a glance over to his mother, Tom sees that she’s pointedly not looking at him. His hands start to shake.

He has to say something, though silence is confirmation enough no doubt. “Would it be so bad if it was?” He knows his voice sounds accusatory, defenses raised as if in preparation for a fight. She turns to him full-on, her face unreadable, and Tom can’t do anything but freeze in place. So much for self-preservation.

What he doesn’t expect her to do though is to clutch at his hands, face morphing into an earnestness that makes his heart ache and throat constrict. “No,” she breathes, and it’s simple and validating enough that Tom can’t help the choked sob that rises out of his throat. Without giving him any time to get actual words out, his mother pulls him tight against her, arms coming to cradle his head and shoulders. Tom lets himself be held, craning his neck down and burying it in the crook of her own as she quiets the silent and grateful tears wetting her dress.

“The only thing I care about is yours and your brother’s happiness. You’ve been through so much that you deserve whatever you want that’ll make it okay again.” He nods, but she still pulls his head from her shoulder so she can look him in the eye. “Do you hear me?”

Tom’s able to get out a quiet, “Okay” before she smiles.

“Good. Now get upstairs and tell William to stop worrying that I’m going to set him up with Francine from down the way. She kept making eyes at him the whole time she was here.”

He can’t help but chuckle at the thought of Will mortified at the prospect. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now shift on.”

Tom’s in such a daze walking up the stairs that he forgets to tread lightly, though when he rounds the corner, he sees the light still on in his room. Not sleeping then. He does try to be a little quieter with opening his bedroom door, but Will’s only sitting at the small writing desk with his notebook in front of him.

Will must see the tear tracks that Tom’s failed to wipe away because he does a double-take when he enters the room. “Tom? What happened? Is everything okay?”

“My mother knows,” he says, practically falling onto the bed sideways. The springs groan in protest as he pushes himself into a sitting position.

“About…” Tom looks to see Will genuinely confused for a moment before his eyes widen almost comically. “Do we need to leave, Tom?”

A beat passes like Tom himself can’t even comprehend the words that are about to come out of his mouth. “I think we’re good actually. She said she only wants me to be happy after everything.” He looks up from where his gaze has fallen to his limp hands laying atop his legs. Will’s eyes are still wide in response, which Tom thinks is fair; it’s a pretty major bombshell.

“Good. Now your whole family knows, and we’re still trapped here for sixteen hours.”

Uncontrollable giggles suddenly bubble up from Tom’s throat, and Will looks at him like he’s crazy until his own laughter erupts. Closing his notebook, Will gets up and falls half onto the bed and half onto Tom, which sends Tom falling onto his side again. The sudden graceless movement does absolutely nothing to stifle their laughter as the bed groans.

Laying face to face with Will, Tom tucks his face into the front of his shoulder and takes a deep breath in an effort to stifle the giggles. In the absence of Tom’s giggles, Will’s own begin to calm, and he rubs a hand up and down Tom’s back comfortingly. 

At that moment, Tom feels the calmest he thinks he’s ever felt-- the most in-touch with this plane of existence he’s ever been. The most important people in his life know his deepest feelings, and Tom feels _light_. This boy holding him continues to self-sacrifice for Tom and his family time and again, and he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it.

Pulling his head out of the crook between the bodies, Tom looks up at Will’s face and sees nothing but tender affection reflected back. “I love you.” It’s barely audible, but Will hears it anyway and smiles.

“I love you too,” he whispers back before tilting his head to brush his lips against Tom’s for the first time since that morning. It’s a simple gesture, but it quiets Tom’s thoughts and lets him live for now.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on a hopefully smaller fic that falls between this and the 10k beast, so that'll be coming down the pipeline soon hopefully. My lizard brain cannot be completely trusted though.
> 
> Let me know what you thought!  
> You can also hit me up at kolyarostovs.tumblr.com and come scream with me about anything and everything.


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